Waking Up
by Diatha
Summary: New idea from a movie I've seen.  The war is over.  Draco needs a place to stay.  What he finds is trouble by name of Hermione Granger.  DMHG
1. Chapter 1

Nope, nope…this isn't mine. I've based this off a movie. See if you can guess which one…

Chapter One

Merlin, he was tired. Incredibly tired. It was as if he hadn't slept at all in the last three years. Three years. It's funny how things can change in such a short span of time. It hadn't felt short, that three years. In fact, it felt as though those three years were thirty. Thirty years, thirty lifetimes.

It's been six months since that last battle. The Last Battle. The one that ended the war. The one where the Light prevailed. Many people had lost their lives, both good and bad. He was lucky. He had survived. He might not have deserved to survive, but he had survived. He would not have been missed; not like some of the others. Others that had died fighting the good fight. They were missed. He doubted whether anyone knew or cared that he was still breathing air. He had no friends. No family. He had turned his back on them a long time ago. They weren't the ideal friends and family, but they were his and yet he turned his back on them all to do what he felt was right. He had not liked the future that had lain before him. So he had found another path. He was never liked, but he had been respected. And that was enough. Enough to do what needed to be done. And everything was done. Now there was nothing. Nothing to be done, but sleep.

His current trouble was that he had no where to sleep. It was all gone. He was master of nothing. This sad fact is why he was currently looking for a flat in the Daily Prophet. Preferably furnished. Preferably cheap. He had saved a meager amount of coin in the last three years. It was definitely not enough to have him living in luxury as he had before. No, it was doubtful he would ever see that again.

He circled a few prospects, put on his well-worn shoes, grabbed his threadbare cloak, and walked out in search of lodging. Short-term, long-term. It didn't matter. His only requirement was a soft bed. A soft bed where he could sleep away the last three years. He had no tears. They had run dry long ago. He was left now only with the scars of battle. Both physical and emotional. Haggard appearance, fatigued body, drawn face, night sweats…loneliness. But it was better to be alone. No one would understand. No one would want him as he was now: a shell of his former self. He could barely muster a smirk. And even then it resembled more a grimace. He was pathetic. Even to himself.

His first stop was a waste. It was obvious the owner of the flat was an elderly woman. An elderly woman who liked floral prints. And pink. And cats. It was definitely not conducive to a restful sleep. Who knew if she had even remembered to take all of her cats on her mini break. With his luck, there was still one hiding underneath that plastic-wrapped, monstrosity of a couch or one behind the violently pink, rose-covered drapes. They would probably maul him in his sleep. His eyes bulged at the sheer horror of being eaten by ravenous house cats. He tried to remain dignified as he fled from the building.

His second stop was fruitless, too. The owner of this particular flat enjoyed Asian influences. In the middle of the floor, where one would normally place a couch or table or some other piece of furniture, was a Zen rock garden. He had never seen the like. There were overstuffed throw pillows and oriental tapestries and bonsai trees and intricately woven rugs…but there wasn't a bed. Not a single bed-like form in the entire place. Nothing that he would call a bed, anyway. What he was shown was a floor mat. That was to be his bed? Some narrow, thin floor mat that he wouldn't consider even using as a welcome mat, let alone a bed? He less than politely declined and left the building.

At this rate, he would be living at the inn for the rest of his days…or until he was kicked out for lack of funds. He couldn't afford to pay daily. He needed a flat and fast. He had one more flat to see. If the others were anything to judge by, it wasn't promising.

He stopped walking when the steady crunch of his shoes on cobblestone was broken by a foreign sound. He looked down to see a piece of parchment stuck to the sole of his shoe. He bent forward to retrieve the offending object, but it refused to budge. In fact, it was damn well stuck on. So well that when he finally was able to straighten with the parchment in hand, his shoe came with it. Holding the paper between thumb and forefinger, he looked thoughtfully at his dangling shoe. And then at his shoeless foot sporting a holey sock. One pale little piggy was peaking through, very much on display for any passerby to see. His pale face reddened as he hobbled to the nearest bench. So much for dignity, he thought.

He placed the objects in his lap to examine while tucking his unshod foot behind his opposite leg to hide it from view. It seemed as though there was a sticking charm on the slip of paper. Touching it with the tip of his wand, he muttered a spell. Finally able to remove the two items, he tossed the scrap away and bent to put on his shoe. He looked at his surrounding making sure that he wasn't providing entertainment to the general populace of Diagon Alley. No one was looking or pointing or laughing. In fact, everyone hustled and bustled about their business completely oblivious to his presence. He sighed and made to stand. However, this motion was interrupted when a strong burst of wind blew something into his face. He was so surprised that he lost his balance and fell back against the bench with a loud grunt. Snatching the object from his face, he realized it was the very same one he just unstuck from his shoe. He was about to rend the thing to shreds when he noticed the writing. The parchment seemed to be advertising for a furnished flat. A flat that was a mere block from his current location. He looked suspiciously at the ad as though it had purposely attached itself to his shoe. He shrugged and took off in search of this new find.

It was perfect. He knew the instant he walked through the door. The warm colors, the inviting fireplace, the large windows, the breathtaking view…the giant bed. He tentatively asked the flat manager the price. Surely it would be too much for him. Let me be able to afford it, let it be in my price range, he repeated in his head. Fate decided to smile on him. He could afford it. And he immediately decided to take it. He was warned though that it was only on a month-to-month basis. He could deal with that.

He returned as quickly as he could from retrieving his things from the inn. He just stood in the doorway trying to decide where he wanted to sleep first. The bed was giant and inviting, yes, but the couch was beckoning to him. It was seducing him with its soft cushions and velvety throw pillows. It had the added benefit of facing the fireplace. He started a fire and then sank into the welcoming comfort of the couch. It was bliss.

He pulled a bottle of Ogden's Best from his bag and took a healthy swig. Nothing like a good bit of firewhiskey to lull one to sleep. Lying still against the cushions, he waited for sleep to claim him. He concentrated on the soothing sound of the fire crackling and the faint sound of a ticking clock. The room grew darker as the late afternoon turned into evening. His eyelids fluttered heavily as his breathing deepened and his taut muscles relaxed.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY FLAT?" a high-pitched screech pierced the silence.

He jumped what felt like a foot in the air. Springing forward, he lost his footing and landed on the floor. Hard. Rubbing his tail bone, he looked up to see a very enraged Hermione Granger. He could do nothing for a second but gape in shock.

"Well, don't sit there gawking like an idiot! Leave my flat!"

He snapped his jaw closed. "Your flat? I just rented this flat today."

He watched as she tried to calm herself. She spoke slowly. "You can't have rented this flat today because this flat belongs to me. I own it and this is all my stuff. That is my couch and that is my lamp and these are my books." She gestured toward the objects as she spoke. "Therefore, you can't have rented this flat today. It must have been another flat. So, please, leave now and I won't call the manager to have you removed?" He grew more confused with each passing sentence from her mouth. It wasn't just the fact that she claimed to own the flat. It was also that she looked as if she had never seen him before in her life. Her eyes held no recognition. Something was very wrong.

He rose gingerly. He looked around him. It was the same flat from the ad. It was the same flat he saw earlier with the manager. This was the flat he rented. And yet she claimed it was hers.

"I don't know what you're playing at, but I rented this flat today. It came furnished. This was all here when I moved in. What is this? Some kind of punishment for past mistakes? It's definitely not funny." He sighed warily. "I'm so tired. Just leave so I can sleep in peace."

She snorted loudly. "Sleep, you say? With that bottle of Ogden's, I'd say you were about to fall into a coma." Then she crossed her arms firmly on her chest. "And this is not some joke! This is my flat and you are intruding. I don't know you. I haven't invited you here." She sniffed haughtily. "And I doubt I would have invited you here _had_ I known you. You are quite rude."

He pushed against his eyes tightly. "And if I refuse to leave?" he asked stubbornly.

When he opened his eyes, he could see anger light her eyes. "You stay right there! I'm getting the manager! He'll fix this—" The rest of her sentence was cut off as she stalked from the room.

He sat heavily. He leaned against the back cushions. Waiting. And waiting. Ten minutes ticked by. _Surely it doesn't take that _long, he thought. He stood and walked cautiously to the entry way. He saw nothing and he heard nothing. Just the faint sounds of the clock and the crackling of the fire. He looked up and down the hall. Nothing. No one. He examined the front door. Locked. Double bolted from the inside.

"What the f—" This was a head scratcher. No one was here. And there weren't any signs indicating there had been.

His body tense, eyes darting around the room, he walked slowly back to his couch. _My couch_, he assured himself. He resumed his position, but not before downing the rest of his Ogden's. _This was just a dream. I am not crazy…._His eyes flew open. _Or am I?_ But his thoughts grew quiet as the firewhiskey took effect. His mind blurred. Images swirled together. And sleep finally claimed him.

When he woke, he didn't know how much time had passed. He was vaguely aware that his stomach had woken him. It gurgled as it burned painfully inside him. He shielded his eyes against the light of day. His head throbbed and pounded a steady cadence. And he felt like he had swallowed cotton. He stumbled to the kitchen and to the sink. He turned on the cold tap and stuck his head under the faucet to drink greedily. When sated, he walked unsteadily back to the couch to retrieve his bag. He pulled out a scone he had packed from the inn and stuffed it in his mouth. Satisfying his immediate needs tired him. The fire looked to have died hours ago and the couch was no longer welcoming. He went in search of his bed dragging his bag behind him the entire way. He leaned heavily against the doorjamb of the bedroom. _Hangovers are a bitch_, he thought. Launching himself off the wall with as much strength as he could gather, he dropped the strap of his bag and crossed the room to the bed. He sat atop the covers ready to return to his peaceful slumber. He flopped back and rolled himself away from the light shining through the windows. He rolled and encountered a feminine form glaring sternly at him.

"Oh, no…not again," he croaked.

Her brows drew down further in an uncanny impression of McGonagall. "Why is it that you are still here? In my bed, no less! Soiling my bed linens! Do you know how much those cost?!" She took a deep breath. "Look, it's obvious you're confused. Maybe I can help you. Is this first time you've woken up in a strange place?" She looked at him expectantly but he could do nothing but stare incredulously. "Have you ever heard voices? Seen things that weren't there?"

He arched a brow. "As a matter of fact…"

She looked at him pityingly. "Had excessive bouts of drowsiness?" She asked sarcastically knowing the answer to the question.

He propped himself on elbows to glance uncertainly around the room. Suddenly, he felt unsure. The past week had been a blur. There were jumbled thoughts floating in his mind. Maybe it was just the hangover. Or maybe he really was crazy as she was suggesting.

"I—I don't know…" he whispered.

"Don't worry. I'll try to help you." She moved to place a hand on his shoulder but he felt nothing. He turned his head to find her looking in horror at her hand. He looked at her hand, too. And gulped. Her hand had passed right through his shoulder—right through flesh and bone—to float in his chest. She snatched her hand back hastily and backed away.

She pointed a shaky finger at him, wild eyed. "What have you done to me… who are you…_what_ are you?!" She clasped both hands to her chest. "I need my wand!" She turned and strode from the room. But, when she reached the threshold, her body slowly evaporated into air and faded away to nothing.

There was one thing he was certain of at that moment: Hermione Granger was dead.


	2. Chapter 2

AstraeltheDestroyer: Reese Witherspoon is definitely in it.

Chapter Two

He laid there eyes wide for several minutes. He couldn't return to sleep. No matter how much he willed himself to. Or how tightly he closed his eyes. He accepted that he couldn't return to sleep. His curiosity wouldn't rest. So he shuffled to the bathroom to clean himself up before heading downstairs to knock on the manager's door.

"Just curious, but who was the person who lived in that flat before me?" he asked when the manager popped his head out.

The balding man scratched his head in thought. "Well, I don't know much about her. I know there's been some kind of tragedy, but that's it. Her friends and family have been tight-lipped about the whole thing. Just asked me to rent out the place as is and to look after it; that it was only temporary."

He nodded his thanks and retreated back into his flat. _A tragedy?_ he thought. He couldn't fathom the idea that she was dead. But could there be any other possibility? Like it or not, she was a fixture in his life—a constant—and to have her taken away when he needed normalcy more than ever? He sighed and rubbed his face in exhaustion. Sure, he never liked her much, but that was the role they both played. It was understood from the beginning that they would never like each other. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Slytherin and Gryffindor. Never two groups more destined to dislike one another. He had never wanted her to die. He may have thought it in the heat of the anger, but he never truly meant it. He always felt guilty once his anger finally died.

So, he came to a decision. She was a spirit that was having trouble passing on. He'd do her the favor of helping her pass. If not only to relieve his conscience, then to get rid of her so he could sleep. He left in search of a mystic shop in Knockturn Alley. A special place where one can find…special items…He thought it the best place to start. It had no name. It was known only by word of mouth. And, as Lucius Malfoy's son, he knew where to find it. He went there as a boy and he hadn't been impressed. In his opinion, it had been a lot of hype about nothing. But he had been too young then to understand the significance of the shop. Now, it was his destination.

He looked for the alleyway. The entrance was hidden by crates, which made it difficult to find. The whole of Knockturn Alley was littered with crates. All the same from the next. He passed it up and had to turn back. He located the door and slipped in silently.

"I was expecting you, Mr. Malfoy," the raspy voice said through the smokiness of the shop. The owner appeared suddenly to his right and nearly scared Draco out of his wits. The hag cackled and then grinned crookedly. "This way," she said beckoning him with her withered hand. She led him further into the darkness of her shop.

"So then you can help me? You know what I need?" he asked her anxiously.

"How would I know that? I don't even know what your problem is," she replied, looking at him as if he were crazy.

"You said you were expecting me!"

"Yes, because I saw you coming from my upstairs window," she cackled again.

He stopped to look at her incredulously but continued on with a shake of his head. He followed her to a small, lighted sitting area. She seated herself in a high backed armchair and he followed suit. "So, what brings you here, boy? You were not but 12 the last time I saw you. It has been a long time." Her face contorted to what possibly could have been mystery, but the crazy look in her eyes ruined whatever effect she was hoping for.

"I'm er, having a ghost problem. I want to help Gra—I mean, _the ghost_ to pass on," he didn't want to say her name. Chances are that no one else knew. If it been had known, then the whole Wizarding community would have been abuzz with the news of the death of a war hero. Even in his state, he would have heard that. No, no one else knew.

She peered excitedly through the fringe of hair covering her eyes. "You've set yourself a task, haven't you, my boy? Quite the task…I think I know of some things that can help you. Yes, yes, I think I may know…" her voice trailed off as she rose from her seat to bustle around the shop. He could hear her scurrying about. The scurrying paused and then started again. Then he could hear her drawing closer and, the next thing he knew, he had a pile of books dropped in his lap. Heavy books. "That should do it, I think. I'll just put those on the Malfoy family tab."

He remained silent. Let her figure out later that he had been disowned. He stood with difficulty juggling the seven heavy books he was given. He hurried back to his flat.

The light of day was already fading. Grey clouds rolled in blocking the setting sun. Luckily, he made it back to the building before any rain fell. He dropped the books onto the coffee table with a thunk. And with a wave of his wand, he lit the candles in the room. He shrugged off his cloak and tossed it over the sofa. No time like the present.

He sat on the sofa and chose a book at random. He read a few passages before tossing the book aside in disgust. He changed his mind. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea.

"Don't you dare throw around books!" She was back.

He turned to look at her glaring form. He rolled his eyes. It figures, he thought. "Wouldn't dream of it." He smirked. It had been far too long since there had been humor in his life. "It's good that you're here. I want to help you—"

"Help me?! You, sir, are still in my flat. I think out of the two of us, you're the one in need of help. Of the psychiatric kind!"

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you're dead. You're a ghost. A little blunt, I know, but that's the best way to give bad news." He took a breath. "I'm going to help you pass on. A word to the wise, if you see a bright light, walk toward it."

"What are you talking about?" she started backing away slowly. "I am not dead. And there is no light!" She looked close to panicking.

He stood and started walking toward her. He held out a hand to try and calm her. "Don't get upset. You really are dead though." He paused. He motioned for her to look down. She had walked through the dining table and was currently standing through the middle of it.

She let out a small scream. "What is happening?" She was definitely panicking now. "I am not dead!" She made to hit him, but her hand only lodged itself in his head. When that didn't work, she began to wriggle her fingers.

"Hey! Stop that!" He took a few hasty steps back. He shuddered. _What an odd feeling_.

She yelled in frustration. "I can't even hit someone properly!" In his opinion, that was a good thing. He'd be black and blue otherwise. She could throw a punch worthy of any grown man.

"It's ok. Everything will be fine. Being dead isn't so bad. I'm sure there are tons of things to do on the other side. There will probably be a huge library full of books. The library is your favorite." He tried cajoling.

"How do you know?" she sniffed.

"What if I were to tell you that you've known me for about ten years?" he asked.

"I'd say you were a big, fat liar," she replied tartly.

That surprised a laugh from him. "Well, you do know me. My name is Draco Malfoy." She froze slightly. She seemed to recognize it.

"Draco Malfoy? I know that name."

"Of course, you do. We went to Hogwarts together. You and your friends. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley…Is this sparking any type of memory?" He stood awkwardly watching her walk dazedly about the room.

She turned to face him. "My name is Hermione." It was like a discovery. The way she said it was as if her name was a revelation. As if she had forgotten that, too. The only thing still tied to her memory was the flat.

"That's right. Your name is Hermione Granger. Witch, war hero, and general know-it-all," he smiled reassuringly. "You had quite the life. You accomplished in your lifetime what most other people couldn't hope to in theirs." He stopped when she vigorously shook her head.

"No. Fine, I'll agree that I'm not quite…corporeal, but I refuse to believe that I'm dead." She looked to have calmed and her logic and common sense were returning. "I mean, look at me! I'm not silver like most ghosts. I've still retained full color. This has to be something else." She turned to her bookshelves with a yearning eye. "I can't touch them, can I?"

He moved to stand next to her. "No, probably not."

"Oh, by the way, do me the favor of _not_ referring to me in the past tense until we know for certain that I'm dead. Thanks," she said sarcastically.

"We? There is no 'we'. I know this used to be your flat, but it's now mine. And I would really love it if you would stop haunting the place, so I can rest in peace. That's all I want." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This was entirely more than he had intended. It was one thing to help her pass on, but she was right, she wasn't like any ghost he had seen before. The more he thought about it, the more confused he became over his actions. What had gotten into him? When had he ever gone out of his way to help Hermione Granger? More importantly, when had Hermione Granger gone out of her way to help him? The great Harry Potter was her best friend. If anything, she could find Potter and Weasley to help her.

"So, that's it? That's your idea of helping me out?" She looked at him accusingly.

He threw up his hands. "Look! You're right. You're not a real ghost. In fact, you may not even be dead. I have never even heard of something like this. For all I know, this is some elaborate joke you and your idiot friends are pulling."

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "You always were a bastard."

He placed a hand over his heart. "Aww, you _do_ remember." He adopted a look of boredom. "Now, leave."

Her eyes grew calculating. "Oh, I'm not going anywhere."

He should have been worried. She was true to her word. She never left. Not even once. She didn't disappear into air. Or fade into nothing. She stuck by him wherever he went. He couldn't shake her. He couldn't even deter her by taking a shower. She had no qualms about following him into the bathroom. The first time she had done it, he had blushed to the roots of his hair and she hadn't seemed the least bit perturbed. She had just stared challenging at him. After that, he started to shower in swimming trunks.

He could deal with being followed. He could even handle the smart quips she made every time he bought a new bottle of Ogden's. "Another bottle?" "Drink much?" "How's the liver?" But what he couldn't handle was the song. The song she sang loudly each day when he attempted to sleep. That's why he needed the firewhiskey. He couldn't fall asleep otherwise for that damned song.

"If ever a wonderful Wiz there was, the Wizard of Oz is one because, because because because because BECAUSE, because of the wonderful things he does! We're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz!" And on it went. And on…and on…

He'd finally had enough. He removed the pillow from his head. "OK! Enough!" Kicking the sheets off wildly, he made to stand, but tripped and fell to the floor in a tangled heap. He jumped to his feet hastily. He ignored her laughter. "You're out of here," he said menacingly.

She continued laughing. But still managed to get out, "Ooh, I'm scared."

He stalked from the room leaving her and the laughing behind. "Merlin, I hate that bloody song," he mumbled.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

He found an ad in a discarded Prophet advertising for Slanigan's Solution for the Stubborn Spirit. Slanigan turned out to be a red-faced, portly wizard with shifty eyes. His "solution" was to bark orders to his two hapless assistants who ran about the flat shouting Revealing spells. Each object of the room was intently scrutinized by the red-face tyrant who looked more as if he were about to rob the place rather than remove a stubborn spirit.

He watched in frustration and gritted his teeth. "She's not even in that room! I'm telling you she's standing right there." And he gestured to the stubborn spirit in question who looked vastly amused by the entire affair.

Slanigan looked annoyed at being corrected and turned to Draco, his bulbous nose flaring larger in anger. "I'll have you know that I've been doing this for 4 years, boy, and don't need the likes of you telling me what's what. We're professionals! And I think we would know where this ghosty is better than you would." He chuckled condescendingly. "Just stay out of the way and we'll be done in no time…then you can pay us our fee."

Malfoy's were never addressed in such a way! His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch your filthy mouth. You're speaking to a Malfoy and, if you want to retain all of your limbs, I would suggest you rein in your two idiots and leave immediately." His voice was a growl. "And, were I you, I wouldn't be expecting payment. You won't be seeing a knut from me." Hermione looked impressed. There was a swelling sensation in his chest that had nothing to do with the anger he was feeling.

Slanigan's face was slowly turning purple and he was doing a fair impression of a fish gasping for air. Then he turned as a cry of excitement came from down the hall. "Sir, I think we found the ghost!"

Hermione hadn't moved. She turned laughing eyes toward him. "I wonder who they found!" She walked quickly to the sounds of the excited chattering of the assistants. "They've found my white bathrobe," she called back to him, giggling.

Slanigan turned back to face him. "We've found your ghost! A fee must be paid!"

He arched a brow at Slanigan. "I think not," his face reflecting his boredom. He was done with these frauds. The sooner they were gone, the sooner he could find someone else qualified to handle his problem.

"Never mind, sir! It was just a bathrobe." The second assistant called out.

Slanigan bared his teeth in a grimace that was meant to be a smile. "Fine. We'll be leaving now." With a barked order, Slanigan and his assistants left.

Hermione was back at his side. "Was that really the best you could find?" Looking at her, he saw her raised brows and laughing eyes. _She's way too happy for someone who could very well be dead_.

He sighed resignedly. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

She snorted. "Just make sure they didn't steal anything. The way that man was salivating over my grandmother's crystal vase was disconcerting." He couldn't help but silently agree.

An impish smile came to her face. "Just to let you know…if you keep drinking like you have been, you'll be seeing Slanigan in the mirror—only with blond hair." She laughed at his horrified expression.

"What?!"

"You are aware that firewhiskey—any liquor really—makes you red-faced; it gives you those little red veins in your nose. Not to mention that it makes your midsection expand until you have the appearance of a pregnant woman." He looked thunderstruck. "I knew appealing to your vanity would work," she said with an annoying, self-satisfied smile.

His eyebrows snapped together at that last bit. He turned and strode to the kitchen. _Where did I put that blasted Prophet?_

His next find was Madame Svetlina's Alternative Answer for Unwanted Hauntings. Madame Svetlina was a thin, breathy figure who glided around the flat in her long, flowing robes of fuchsia. Her voice was cracking with age as she moved trance-like through the rooms calling on the spirit of the dwelling to reveal itself to her. With every other step, she'd light her wand in a spell that would give off a smoky trail of perfume. After ten minutes, he had to squint to keep sight of her form through the smoke.

Hermione was standing beside him watching the woman skeptically. Hermione was never one to believe in "alternate" answers. Take third year, for instance.

"That old bat is going to set off my fire protection charms."

Sure enough. As the smoke started to rise, there was a piercing screech and the ceiling opened up and released a shower of water on their heads. It stopped as soon as it had started.

He watched as the soaked figure that was Madame Svetline walked toward him. Gone was the air of breathiness. She looked drowned with her robes hanging heavily from her frame. Great streaks of black mascara were running down her cheeks.

She glared. "I have done all I can do. Whatever being that still resides here is your problem." She stalked to the foyer and was gone with the slam of the door.

"That went well," Hermione said, voice choked.

He looked to her and found her face contorted in her effort not to laugh. _Always with the laughing_. He would have laughed, too, except that he would only be laughing at himself and that would never do. He applied a drying charm quickly to rid himself of the water dripping from his clothes.

"Why can't they see me? Why is it only you?"

He had been wondering the very same thing. "I have no idea, but I wish you'd haunt someone else."

"And I wish you'd leave my flat! So, we're even," she said immediately. "Nothing left to do, but help each other."

"How is it that I need help from you?" he asked, incredulous.

"I have made it my personal mission to help you stop drinking. It's very bad for you, red veins and all." Then, as an afterthought, "And, honestly, you need a sense of humor."

He growled in frustration. "I fail to see any humor in being annoyed by the girl I hated most from Hogwarts!"

She adopted a hurt pout, but it was quickly gone. "You may not, but I do. Whether it's because I don't entirely remember you, I'm not sure, but I find it great fun to annoy the hell out of you." She gasped. "This must have been how you felt when you did the same to me at school! What was that expression you always had? That arrogant prat expression?" He frowned. _Arrogant prat, indeed. _His frown deepened when she smirked at him in triumph.

"The question is: when did you develop a sense of humor?" he challenged.

"First year," she said without pause. "One has to have a sense of humor to be friends with both Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley."

That surprised a laugh from him. "Isn't that a bit disloyal?"

She shrugged. "They'd probably say the same of me," she said, grinning.

He moved to the sofa and sprawled lazily. Rubbing a hand down his face in exhaustion, "Today has been a long day."

Never missing a beat, "That's because you've been awake longer today than the last week combined."

"I think I liked it better when you used to give me dirty looks in school and didn't talk to me directly." Standing decisively, he strode to the door. He needed to borrow an owl. He'd give it one more try. Third time's a charm, after all.

He was conscious of being followed. He could hear her singing under her breath something about calling ghostbusters. He shook his head. _It had to be a muggle thing_.

He climbed the stairs to the next floor and knocked on the first door he came to. He was surprised when Lavender Brown greeted him from the other side.

He saw Hermione scowl and so he grinned charmingly at Lavender just to further irritate her. "Why, Lavender Brown, what a surprise to see you."

Lavender leaned against the doorjamb and smiled slowly. "It is a surprise! What is it that has brought Draco Malfoy to my doorstep?" Hermione gagged.

"I was hoping to introduce myself to my new neighbor, and ask to borrow an owl to send a quick message. But now that I see that we've already been introduced, perhaps I can convince my lovely neighbor to have me over for tea." He smiled winningly.

Hermione glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?! You'd catch a disease merely from being in her presence." She turned her glaring eyes to Lavender who was quite unaware of the death stare she was receiving from her former housemate.

"I can put on a pot now, if you'd like," Lavender fairly purred.

He smirked. "Maybe tomorrow," he promised. "Right now, I'm really in need of an owl. Do you have one?"

"Of course, you can borrow Daisy! Let me fetch her for you."

Owl in hand and with a promise to come the next day for tea, he returned to his flat. Daisy was chirping in excitement and looking at him with adoring owl eyes.

"I see alarming similarities between owner and pet," Hermione said, clearly disgusted.

He smirked. "Jealously doesn't become you, Granger."

She made a sound of derision. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. Just send your bloody note and be done with it." She moved to stare out the window.

He sent Daisy to the hag in Knockturn Alley who stepped out of the fireplace moments later.

She stood for a moment blinking against the bright light of the sun filtering in through the windows. "You're right, boy, I do feel a restless spirit here, but where is she? I don't see her."

"Apparently, I'm the only one who can," he said sardonically.

She eyed him. "That's a gift. Be thankful for such a gift."

He rolled his eyes. "I assure you, this is no gift." Hermione scowled at him. He continued. "She doesn't think she's dead, and, though it pains me to admit, I think she's right. She's like no ghost I've ever encountered. Beseeching the spirit to pass on didn't exactly work. As a matter of fact, she's here more than she was previously."

The hag scratched her beak of a nose thoughtfully and cackled. "A smart spirit you have. The gel just may be right. She feels very alive. The space beside you glows with life."

Surprised, he looked to Hermione whose expression mirrored his own. "Not half bad," Hermione said thoughtfully.

Closing her eyes in concentration, the hag said, "I think the gel likes you, boy. I can feel it in the room."

Hermione snorted. "Never mind, I take it back." He smirked at her, enjoying her discomfort.

The hag's eyes twinkled. "Looks like I've embarrassed her."

"So, can you get rid of her? Send her back to her body or something?" He didn't have a clue how this was supposed to work.

"I don't think there's anything I can do. She's tied to you. It has to be you to help her." She cackled again. "You'll find a way. Malfoy's always find a way...even when they're not Malfoy's anymore." And then she winked.

He was again surprised. How had she heard about that?

"Oh, ho! You were disowned?" Hermione sounded delighted. "Draco Malfoy doesn't have his Death Eater father to hide behind anymore? That's rich!"

The last shreds of his control vanished and he rounded on her in a fit of rage, eyes narrowed viciously. "Mind your own bloody business! No one asked for the opinion of a Mudblood!" He shouldn't have said the word, but he was beyond caring. He stalked to the bedroom and slammed the door.

"You shouldn't speak ill of the dead, gel." Then he heard a burst of flame as the hag departed. His breathing ragged, he concentrated on regaining control of himself. He shoved away from the door and moved to stand looking out at the darkening sky.

He turned his head slightly when he felt her presence. She had glided through the wall to stand contritely by the bed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You're trying to help me…in your own bizarre way, but help me, nonetheless." Hands clasped behind his back, he turned fully to face her. "I suppose that was something I should have already known, huh? About your parents, I mean."

The silence grew between them. Neither doing anything but staring at the other.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" And then quickly, "You don't have to if you don't want to! But if you want to talk, I'm right here, not going anywhere." She gave him a small smile. "I'm a pretty good listener, too."

He turned away from her smiling face to gaze out the window. Be it exhaustion from being mercilessly "haunted" this last week, he didn't know, but he was very tempted to confide in her. Something was telling him that he could trust her. _It's official, I'm insane_, he thought.

Against his better judgment, he told her the story. He told her all about his decision to run away from home and about how he had found refuge with Snape. He told her how Snape had employed him for communicating information to the Light; that he reported directly to Dumbledore with high priority information. Finally, he told her about when the war had ended. He told her of his being recruited for tracking down Death Eaters in hiding. Nearly six months it had taken all of them to locate the last of the Death Eaters. The last being his parents.

"They hadn't come quietly, as you can imagine. Mother was caught by a rebounding curse and was struck down immediately. Father went out by means of his own wand. He never was one to take defeat well. If he was to be killed, it would be on his own terms." He sighed heavily. "They disowned me when I left. I had some money saved, but, as far as the Malfoy money and estate, it's not mine." He turned to block out her pitying gaze. The last thing he wanted was her pity.

"I wish I could touch you right now." That shocked him enough into looking at her questioningly. She just shrugged in reply.

"I don't need your pity, Granger," he said softly, wanting the conversation to be over.

As if sensing this, she tried to lighten the mood with, "So, let me get this straight…You were grouped with both Harry and Ron to hunt down Death Eaters?" She laughed. "How did THAT go?"

He smiled slightly accepting her change of subject. "Not very well. Lots of arguing and fights, but our commander didn't want to hear any of our pleas to be separated. He maintained that our skills worked well together as a team."

She graced him with a crooked smile. "Skills, maybe, but not personalities." After a long pause, she said, "So I guess you're stuck with me for a while until we can figure things out."

He rubbed his face in frustration. "I'd rather it be sooner than later."

She turned serious and started pacing before him. She had the same look as if she were in class trying to figure out a difficult problem. "First, we need to get in contact with someone who knows me. It needs to be someone who wouldn't care that they'd be talking to you despite the ass you were back in school—" He thanked her sarcastically. "—and it needs to be someone without any sort of morals, so they won't feel the need to tell either Harry or Ron." She stopped pacing to turn to him with a self-satisfied expression. "And I know just the two men that can help us."


	4. Chapter 4

You've guessed it...the movie is, indeed, Just Like Heaven

Chapter Four

It was the next day that he found himself outside the joke shop run by the Weasley twins. Fred and…the other one, whatever his name was. _Was it Greg?_

Hermione was standing next to him staring at him sternly. She motioned to him in a sweeping gesture. "This really does bring back memories," she said, not without humor, referring to his petulant stance.

"Never mind the fact that they're _Weasley's_! But, please, let's not forget the beating I took in fifth year because, really, I'm not up for a repeat performance…," he whispered urgently, furtively glancing from side to side making sure that he wasn't drawing any attention, all the while regretting his decision to follow Granger.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "They're not the type to hold grudges though. They're much too easy-going to hold grudges. That's why they're perfect!" He planted his feet resolutely. "Oh for Merlin's sake, you're being childish!"

He stared at her, clearly not amused. He adopted a high-pitched voice. "My name's Hermione Granger and I'm the smartest witch of all time." He snorted. Voice back to normal, "This is the worst idea I've ever heard! You're just trying to get me killed! Since you can't hit me, you'll find someone else who can!"

She looked as though she were keeping herself from laughing. "Don't be so dramatic! Just trust me!"

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Said the spider to the fly," he mumbled. He didn't know why he was acting this way. He just couldn't help it. It was her. It had to be her. He felt like he was eleven again._ She must bring out the worst in me._

She huffed. "Enough of this," she exclaimed, frustrated. She eyed him thoughtfully and then took him completely by surprise. She rushed him. Rushed _into_ him, more like.

It was like he was plunged into icy water. She was trying to possess him! He tried to shake her out, but to no avail. He was having trouble controlling his limbs. In fact, he watched in horror as his legs slowly started shuffling him toward the opening of the shop. He fought against her trying to keep himself from inching to the door.

"Stop it!" He yelled. And was promptly slapped by his own hand. Realizing his mistake by yelling, he glanced anxiously around at the eyes now turning his way. Whispering, "Granger, you're making me look crazy!"

Then he watched, wide-eyed, as a wobbly leg lifted itself from the ground and was about to take a step. He concentrated, but he couldn't bring it back in place. It was then she took a firm hold and she raced him unsteadily through the door of the shop, the bell announcing their arrival. He promptly collapsed to the floor when she stepped out of his body.

He sat fuming watching as she dusted herself off and smoothed her shirt. He almost sighed in pleasure when the warmth filtered through his body. He was about to stand when two figures moved before him casting a shadow over his body.

"Look, Fred, it's Draco Malfoy," a twin exclaimed. "Wasn't it nice of him to_drop in_ and say hello?"

"Why, yes, it was, George," said the other. "It's nice to see he was able to_lower himself_ into visiting our humble shop!" The twins exchanged devilish grins.

He shot a quick look at Hermione who was looking rather proud of herself. He managed to stand with great dignity. "Some very rude person outside pushed me. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

"I can't imagine why anyone would want to push you," one twin said, straight-faced. Hermione and the other twin snickered.

"Nice one, Fred."

"I think I'll just leave now." Hermione shot him a pleading look. He sighed wearily. "Actually, I just have a quick question." The twins looked at him expectantly. "I'm looking for Hermione Granger. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find her, would you?"

All humor vanished. "Oh, that can't be good," he heard Hermione say.

The one he thought to be Fred spoke up. "Why do you need to find her?" _Ok, clearly he was suspicious._ George narrowed his eyes. …_they both were._

Thinking fast, "Well…She and I made a bet. I lost—about 8 months ago, actually. I've just been delaying in paying up, so I figured I'd settle my debt and get it over with." Hermione was nodding encouragingly.

"I doubt Hermione gambles. This is Hermione Granger we're talking about." Hermione threw Fred a nasty look.

But Fred had a point. "I think she wanted to prove me wrong more than she wanted not to gamble." That sounded good. Plausible, even. He almost smirked when it looked like they believed him.

"You probably won't be able to see her for a while." George was frowning. "Maybe you can give us whatever it is and we can pass it along."

He, too, frowned. "It's kind of personal. I would rather deal with her in person."_Because I'd like to get rid of her spirit._

Before he had even finished his sentence, they were both shaking their heads. "Can't happen. We pass it along or nothing." _Time to break out the theatrics_.

He adopted a concerned frown. "Nothing's wrong with her, I hope…" Hermione was giving him a weird look. If he dyed his hair purple,_that's_ the look he would receive.

He switched from concerned to embarrassed. "I mean, it's not like I _care_ or anything," he scoffed. "I was just wondering, that's all."

Fred and George exchanged looks. Their eyes held mischief. "Ok, Malfoy, you win. We'll tell you where she is—you know, because you don't care and all—and don't think we're doing this because we like you! We're doing it to irritate ickle-Ronniekins."

"Here, here!" cried George.

Hermione clapped her hands in joy and stared at him in wonder. "Your talent for lying is almost scary."

He smirked, feeling very smug. A foreign feeling came over him just then. He felt a lightness in his chest. He could only speculate that this is what do-gooders, like Potter, felt like.

He wasn't surprised they directed him to St. Mungo's. Both he and Hermione were making their way by foot since Hermione couldn't apparate.

"So, it's to be St. Mungo's with me," she sighed. "I guess I should be grateful I wasn't lost in the last battle, lying in some field where no one could find me."

"Way to stay positive, Granger."

She glanced at him. "You know, I almost remember everything. Everything except what happened to me. It's like this fleeting memory at the back of my mind." He didn't know how she was feeling. Hell, he couldn't think how he would feel in this situation.

"You can't remember because that would be too convenient. It seems the world means for us to work these things out the hard way and not come by them too easily," he replied, sardonically.

She turned her laughing eyes to him. "That's sadly accurate. And, coming from you, it's slightly funny."

Crossing his arms, he turned to her, "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come off it. You know very well that you came by things quite easily during our years at Hogwarts." She raised a brow in challenge.

"Fine!" He would never be able to win with this one. "But I know better now, don't I? Life's lessons learned the hard way." The conversation was growing entirely too serious, and he didn't like the direction in which it was headed.

It seemed she felt the same way. "Learned hard? Or hardly learned?" She chuckled at her own genius.

"Har, har, Granger. You're a regular riot," he deadpanned. He was secretly glad though. It seemed she always knew how to avert disaster. "And, by the way, what was with jumping in my body back there? It was completely unnecessary!"

She huffed. "You were being your stubborn self. I had to get you to move somehow."

"You made me look like a bloody lunatic in front of all Diagon Alley!" He did have his dignity. He was pretty sure that's all he had left.

"That's your own doing. You could have just gone in the shop, but, no, you had to throw a tantrum right there in the middle of the street."

He drew himself up to his full height and stared down his nose at her. "I assure you, Miss Granger, that Malfoy's do not throw tantrums."

"Oh, stop that, you look ridiculous." Apparently, one couldn't intimidate Hermione Granger.

They continued the rest of the trip in a surprisingly companionable silence. He looked around to make sure he wasn't noticed by any Muggles and slipped inside the abandoned store front that was the entrance to St. Mungo's. He made his way to the private wing the twins had informed him of. He asked the nurse to see Hermione Granger stating that he was a family friend and was given her room number. He turned to make his way to the room and saw the spirit of the woman in question float through a door down the hall. He strode quickly in her direction. Arriving at the door, he saw that it was the correct room and went inside. What he saw when he entered were two women. Two women that were the same woman. One was lying comatose on a bed looking pale and close to death while the other was looking morosely down at the body.

He moved to stand awkwardly on the opposite side of the bed. He didn't know what to say. "Wow, so there you are…"

She examined herself, forehead crinkled in thought. "I don't look good, Malfoy." He silently agreed.

"You don't look that bad, Granger. There's just not a lot of sunlight in this room. Once you get better and you have a little time in the sun, you'll look good as new," he assured her.

She glanced up at him and her eyes softened. "Nice try," she smiled. "Just do me a favor and take a look-see at the chart and tell me what it says."

He located the chart at the foot of the bed. He quickly skimmed the page. "It says you were treated for a common hex, but that you're still recovering from unknown internal injuries."

She frowned. "Internal injuries?" She paced away from the bed. She whirled around. "The explosion!"

This time his concern wasn't an act. "What explosion," he asked slowly, afraid for the answer.

"When you were out on retrieval missions with Ron and Harry," he took the time to sneer in disgust, "they were bringing in a Death Eater and he broke free. I don't recall who it was…it just happened so fast. He grabbed a wand and hexed as many people as he could. I got caught when I was crawling for my fallen wand. The next thing I knew, everyone was running to him trying to contain him, and something just exploded. There was this massive explosion and it sounded like the walls were crumbling down on me and then everything went black." He grimaced at the unpleasantness of it all.

"So, what is unknown about these injuries? Seems like something they would be able to fix in a second." He sounded frustrated even to his ears. He realized he was frustrated for her.

She looked thoughtful again. "Maybe I'm just not waking up after the treatments. Which could be because my spirit and body are two separate entities...I need to get back in there." She tried entering her body every way she could think of only to find herself standing on the outside again. It wasn't working despite all her best efforts. With a cry a frustration, she stopped. "What am I not thinking of?!"

He didn't know what came over him, but he stepped closer to the bed and reached out and touched her body's hand. He looked up as she gasped. She had lifted her hand and was staring at it. "Do you feel that?"

She looked up, excited. "I do! I really do…that has to mean I'm connected in some way, right?"

They both smiled, he still touching the hand of her prone body. It was in that instant that he, too, felt connected.

Then, they heard voices growing closer. Two voices. Two very familiar voices. He snatched his hand back hastily…and then took a few steps back distancing himself. Wouldn't do to have Potter and the Weasel see him hovering over their friend.

Harry and Ron stepped through the door. At the sight of him, they stopped immediately, expressions darkening. They didn't notice Hermione's spirit looking at them affectionately. The whole thing was enough to make him sick.

Harry stepped forward. Slowly, he said, "Malfoy…what are you doing here?"

He cleared his throat. "The Weasley twins informed me of where I could find Miss Granger here, and I thought I would stop by and see her." He could hear Ron grumbling about 'no good brothers'.

Harry's forehead wrinkled. "Why would you want to come and see her? It's Hermione."

Hermione crossed her arms. "I'm not sure whether I should be insulted or not." He sent an amused look her way.

However, he was still under intent scrutiny. "I was just curious. I wanted to see how she was fairing after I heard about the explosion."

Ron growled. "Come to get a good laugh, eh?"

"Now, now, Weasley. You know I'm a changed man. Since we're friends now, I thought I would take an interest in your life." He motioned to the bed. Hermione giggled.

Ron sputtered. "Malfoy, we are not friends!"

He took on a hurt pout. "Awww…now what am I to do with the 'I'm friends with Ron Weasley' shirt…"

Harry actually laughed. The tension in the room seemed to dissipate. "Ok, fine, Malfoy. You've seen her, and now you should probably leave." His expression grew serious. "She's not responding to any treatments," he moved to Hermione's bedside, "they think we should let her go."

There was no disguising his expression of horror. "What?! No, you can't do that! What do you mean 'let her go'?"

Harry glared at him. "Look, it's hard enough as it is! We came to terms with this a month ago, and we don't want her to suffer through anymore of those potions they keep feeding her." Harry glanced at Ron despondently. "We're her best friends, and we can't keep doing this to her."

Hermione was openly crying. "But I'm right here. Please see me," she begged. But they continued to be unaware of her presence.

He glared right back at Harry. "I thought you two were supposed to be Gryffindors," he spat. "She's lying right there and you're giving up on her!" He was furious. Hermione was, for all intents and purposes, standing two feet away, and they were 'letting her go.'

Ron chimed in then. "Don't you dare say we gave up! We had to deal with this the moment we got back from our last mission! Do you think this was an easy decision for us? Because it wasn't!"

He felt an overwhelming sense of panic rising in his chest. "Wait! What if I were to tell you that her spirit is standing just mere feet away from you," he pointed to Hermione. "She's here with us! We just need to find a way to reunite her spirit with her body." There was a pleading note in his voice he hoped they heard.

Their expressions darkened again. "That's not funny. You've had your laugh…"

Hermione looked to have a sudden thought. "Ask them how else you would know that Padfoot gave Harry a Firebolt," she said, urgently. _Genius, Granger_!

He asked them the question, but the Wonder Boys took a menacing step forward.

"It's a good thing we're in a hospital, Malfoy…that way you don't have very far to travel," Harry said.

Hermione let out a cry of frustration, her hands curled into fists. "What is it with boys and fighting?!" She huffed. "Just leave, Malfoy. You're not going to change their minds. Not today," she sighed wearily.

He put up his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, keep your knickers on—I'm leaving." He strode to the door, but turned at the threshold. "But don't say I didn't warn you." And with that, he closed the door.

He travelled a short ways and leaned against the wall to await Granger. He didn't have long to wait. "Ready to go?"

She smiled slightly. "Thanks for all your help, but I think I should stay here with my body."

He frowned. "Are you sure? I don't feel right leaving you with no one here to see you."

Her eyes turned sad. "I can't think of anywhere else I should be." He wanted to shout that she should be with him back at their flat, but he refrained.

He watched as she walked back into her room. His frown deepened. _Now what am I going to do…_


End file.
